


Move the World

by Fyre



Category: The Queen's Thief - Megan Whalen Turner
Genre: Complete, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: Little by little, person by person, the King of Attolia gets what he wants.





	1. Irene

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, this would be my filler fic about what happened between King of Attolia and the beginning of Thick as Thieves :) Because I am a massive frigging nerd.
> 
> Title taken from this quote from KoA: "Archimedes said that if you gave him a lever long enough, he could move the world."

Irene couldn't be sure what woke her.

Her room was bathed in moonlight. The shutters had been closed when she went to sleep, but now, they were wide open. No one was visible, but then her husband was very good at making it so.

There was the slightest of sounds from the high-backed chair at her desk. It was then she recognised what must have woken her: the faintest of scratches of the quill on paper. 

Curious, she rose from the bed, drawing her robe about her.

By the pale moonlight, Eugenides was blindly dragging lines on a page, his gaze a thousand miles away. He must have heard her approach for he laid down the quill and stared at his ink-stained fingers.

"Come to bed," she murmured.

"I won't sleep."

She knew why. She heard whispers about the ruin of his room and his wanderings on the rooftop. Her eyes around the palace knew better than to keep anything from her. She reached down to touch his shoulder and felt him shiver.

"I can't just wait for the blade to drop," he whispered. "It seems that all we're doing is waiting and they keep on striking out, at our people, at Relius, at us.”

He never was one to sit patiently.

"What do you want to do?"

He curled his fingers, as if he could somehow catch Nahuseresh by the throat, then dropped his hand to the desk. He was breathing more heavily than usual and she could smell the wine on him.

"Not what you imagine doing," she murmured, stroking her fingers along his shoulder to rest at the nape of his neck. "I recognise that look. You have something in mind."

“You know what we need.”

Irene nodded. They had talked quietly in the night when the Emperor heir’s threats had first reached them. A navy, the Mede had trumpeted, and none would believe them. Hidden and secret, but almost ready to strike. He had decimated their spy network in the empire to be sure he could tell them and they would be helpless to identify its location. “The navy. Where it is.”

When he raised his eyes to her, there was fire there. “Yes.”

“We have no eyes there now that we know of,” she reminded him.

“None on our side,” he corrected. “Yet.”

“This sounds like the beginning of one of your foolish plans.”

Eugenides laughed. “One of the best: I'm going to take all the information we need from them."

Irene gazed at him. "How?"

He explained the fragments of his plan, such as it was. It was daring, absurd and audacious, all the things she should have known to expect from him: stealing a man's most prized and valuable possession out from under him without appearing to do a thing. Nahuseresh had sent someone into their palace to kill Eugenides. It was only justice to return the favour by destroying all that was left of Nahuseresh’s reputation.

“Nahuseresh has been out of favour for some time,” she murmured. “Do you imagine he will be in the Emperor’s close counsel? You know there’s a chance he may not be privy to any of the information we need.”

A fleeting smile crossed her husband’s lips. “He doesn’t need to be. All we need are his eyes and his ears.”

"You're speaking of a man of unquestioning loyalty," she pointed out, sitting on the edge of the desk. "No matter who you send, they may not be able to persuade him into abandoning the life he knows." 

"I persuaded you," he reminded her, reaching across his own body to take her hand and lift it to his lips.

She arched a brow at him. "On threat of my own life, with the enemy at the gates."

He smiled. "Exactly." He kissed her fingertips. 

She stared at him, then laughed softly. "Ah. And who do you propose to steal him in your place?"

"Someone too honest and forthright to frighten him," Eugenides said drowsily. "Who conveniently enough has been attending my Mede lessons and knows the history and politics."

"An extreme way to protect him from your enemies," she murmured, uncurling one finger to brush his cheek. 

"The one place where no one will look for him."

"Mm." She drew on his hand. "Tomorrow, we can consider the details. Now, you sleep."

For once, he conceded, rising from the chair. She could see how he was swaying, whether from the alcohol or fatigue or both. "I'm expected to spar tomorrow," he grumbled. "Costis made me promise."

"A fair price for your behaviour, I think."

He crawled onto the bed and sprawled down, peering up at her. "You're favouring my guard dog."

"Of course," she replied, slipping her robe from her shoulders and climbing back into the bed beside him. "He has much better manners than you."


	2. Teleus

“Detached from the guard?”

The king nodded.

A few weeks ago, Teleus knew he would have been angry at the presumption. Costis was a good soldier with great potential, but the past month had changed everything. The king was now a king in deed as well as name.

“Am I permitted to know why?”

The king leaned back in his seat. He had his left elbow propped on the arm and his fingers curled beneath his chin. “You’ve seen what happens to someone who finds my favour, Teleus. This is for his own protection.”

Teleus raised his eyebrows. “Forgive me, your Majesty, but you don’t seem the type to take a capable and promising soldier and turn him into a houseboy.”

The king chuckled. “Ah, there’s the Teleus I remember.” He straightened up in the chair. “As it happens, I do have a use for him. I’ve warned him about it although he doesn’t know the details yet. For him to begin his preparation, I think we can both agree that the barracks aren’t the best place for discretion.”

Teleus stiffened his back. “The guard would be discreet.”

For a moment, the king was silent, then he smiled slightly. “We both know Costis,” he said. “He’s an honest man, but if pressed, he gets flustered and can’t tell a lie. The task I have in mind for him is… particular. I don’t want rumours to fall on the wrong ears.”

It made a great deal of sense, even though Teleus couldn’t begin to imagine what the king was planning.

“The court sees him as your favourite,” he pointed out. “This will only confirm it.”

“They might not think so when you tell them the reason.”

Teleus inclined his head. “Which is?”

“That he has been selected to be part of our first embassy in the Mede empire.”

In hindsight, it was probably foolish to roar in indignation at the king. The king didn’t seem surprise, simply sitting and waiting until the tirade of profanities had finally trailed into silence. 

They stared at each other. The king arched his eyebrow, as if challenging Teleus to continue.

“Why?”

The king’s expression was opaque. “Because we have lost so many of our contacts in the empire. Because we are desperately lacking in intelligence since Relius’s fall. Because an embassy is the safest and easiest way to plant useful and trustworthy people on their shores.”

“To be immediately suspected as spies.”

The king laughed aloud. “The way the gossip seems to fly, I wouldn’t be surprised if Costis’s reputation for honesty, loyalty and stubborn pig-headedness is already known to the empire. He’s the most unlikely spy we could send.”

“So he’s to be a spy?” Teleus hated to tell the king his business, but Costis wasn’t capable of such deception.

The king shook his head, smiling. “No. He’s only there as the foolishly loyal guard of the ambassador. Nothing more.”

Well, Teleus thought, some part of that was a lie. It was a waste of Costis’s skill and ability to make him nothing more than a guard dog. The king would never use someone so talented for such a menial task. The fact that Costis had been under threat from the moment he appeared to have the king’s ear…

Teleus almost smiled.

“What will the Mede think?” he said, shaking his head, “when a king is so weak that he needs to exile his known favourite from the court, even so far as the court of the Mede?” 

“Disgraceful, isn’t it?” The king rose from his chair. “And so it needs to appear. He’s to be detached from the guard immediately. Accommodations have been arranged in the palace and he has work to do.”

Teleus nodded.

Even if it was going unsaid, Costis was being sent to the empire for a reason.


	3. Ornon

"Ianna-Ir." Ornon repeated doubtfully.

The Queen inclined her head. "So."

Ornon folded his hands behind his back. "Forgive me, your Majesty, I'm afraid I don't follow."

"You are aware we have lost many of our eyes in the empire?"

Ornon nodded. The fall of Relius had shaken many of the upper echelons of the Attolian court, though they hardly had time to recover between the attempted assassination, the rise of Eugenides and the sudden annexation of Sounis in the wake of the civil war. "I hardly think I could be considered spy material, your Majesty. Especially given my role as the Eddisian ambassador."

The Queen's expression was unreadable as she gazed at him, then she uncurled one hand and motioned to one of the two vacant chairs. "Please, sit."

Ornon hesitated, then obeyed. "Your Majesty..." He began, then frowned. "Why me?"

The faintest of smiles touched her lips. "As you have said yourself, you would hardly be considered spy material. The Mede know of you. They know of your persistence, your loyalty to Eddis and your frustrations with the king."

He nodded, still frowning.

"With our three kingdoms coming under the same aegis, they will see you, a man loyal to Eddis, forced to serve under the rule of Attolia."

Ornon chuckled. "So I prefer to be as far as possible from the kingdom that usurped my own?"

"And may be a potential ally for them," she concurred, inclining her head. 

Ornon lifted one hand to rub at his chin thoughtfully. "That explains the reasons the Mede would accept, but that's not the real reason, I think."

Attolia folded her hands delicately in her lap. "We have been betrayed before by wise and good people. My King needs people loyal to him - to us - beyond our borders, but more than that, we need those who know how to play all the political games. He believes this task can be entrusted to you."

How far they had come, Ornon wondered, he and the Thief of Eddis.

"And you believe you can convince them to take an ambassador?"

At that, Attolia smiled. "They seem to think they are forcing our hand, threatening the withdrawal of Melheret if we don't obey." She shrugged her shoulders delicately and lowered her lashes in a show of demureness that had brought down Nahuseresh. "What can we do but comply?"

Ornon laughed aloud. "And so, I am driven to Ianna-Ir." He waited until she raised her eyes to him again. "And why am I really there?"

This time the smile reached her eyes. "My King wishes to acquire a particular person of the Imperial household who we believe may be useful."

Of course he did. Ornon leaned back in his seat. "I see. You know I am no thief?"

"Ha!"

None of the doors or windows had opened, and yet the King walked around the back of Ornon's chair as if he always had been there. It explained the third vacant chair.

Ornon didn't bother to rise. "Your Majesty."

Eugenides draped himself onto the third chair like a lazy, sated cat. "Ornon. You agree to our arrangement?"

"Conditionally," Ornon said mildly. "Acquiring an individual of the Imperial house may be beyond me."

Eugenides and his Queen exchanged looks that carried a wealth of meaning. "I don't plan on turning you into a thief," Eugenides said. "I have someone else in mind for that. You are to be my wooden cannon on this little adventure."

The taking of the Queen of Attolia from Ephrata was almost legendary in Eddisian circles and Ornon chuckled. "I am only for show, then?"

"Not completely." Eugenides tapped the side of his hook against his palm. "This particular individual will need incentive to leave. I want you to provide the incentive." At Ornon's sceptical look, Eugenides smiled slightly. "Don't worry. All you need to do is say the right words to the right person, and he'll be more than willing to be taken."

"So simple?" Ornon said dryly, as if they weren't discussing a trans-continental abduction from one of the most secure palaces in the Mede Empire.

Eugenides grinned and for a moment, he looked like the thief of old. "That's the fun."


	4. Eugenides

Costis looked puzzled, which - to Gen’s mind - was a fairly regular occurrence. “This is what all the training was for?”

“You sound surprised.”

Costis looked down at the map rolled out in front of him on the tabletop. “I think everyone expected me to be staying in Ianna-Ir with the Ambassador,” he admitted with a quick look at Ornon. “I know I did.”

“We made sure it was the case,” Ornon said with a chuckle. 

Gen nodded, leaning forward in his chair. “That was the point.” By the next sundown, Ornon and his entourage would be on their way to the Mede empire and no one would be any the wiser about their true intentions. “Now it’s time for you to know.”

One side of Costis’s mouth twitched up. “I’m surprised you didn’t wait until I was there.”

Gen looked up at Costis. “I wanted to give you this order personally,” he admitted. “It- this won’t be simple operation. I’m putting you in a dangerous position and I wanted you to know that the order was mine. Not Ornon’s or anyone else’s.”

A rooftop, too much wine and a God’s voice had changed everything between them. If Costis had been loyal before, now it burned in him like fire. It was useful and Gen hated himself for thinking that. Even worse was the fact he was willing to use it.

He tapped the marker for Ianna-Ir with the end of his hook. “You’ll be staying in the city for a few weeks. Maybe months. It all depends on when we have an opportunity to move.”

He watched Costis’s face. 

It was always easy to read him, even if he tried to keep his emotions to himself. It was why Gen knew exactly when to press him to lose his temper. That open honesty was a convenient weapon to unleash on both Kamet and the Mede Empire who were used to politicking and deception.

“You seem confident that I’ll be able to get access to him,” Costis finally said. “It’s a big palace. Don’t they usually have passages for the servants to use in places like that?”

Gen had to smile. Of course he was going to nitpick the plan to pieces. “Usually, yes, but Kamet is an exception. He’s the highest ranking house slave in Nahuseresh’s retinue, which means he has certain… liberties in the palace.”

Costis studied one of the other maps, a street plan of Ianna-Ir, then looked back at Gen. “Only the palace?”

“And with traders and merchants outside,” Gen replied, recalling Kamet’s vocal frustration with the traders Attolia and the fact they tried to overcharge him. 

In Ianna-Ir, he’d said with that familiar haughty indignation, a slave of such a master was treated with respect and not tricked by greedy merchants. Gen had cheerfully teased him, saying that he just wasn’t as good at haggling as he liked to believe. Kamet had bit his lip and Gen laughed like a fiend and told him he would be penniless within weeks if he didn’t learn to haggle. To his surprise and amusement, Kamet had kicked him in the ankle, before folding his arms and glowering at him. 

“Our hope,” Ornon put in, “is that we can arrange a boat on the river. It’s the fastest means of heading north. That means he only needs to make it as far as the docks himself. We don’t think it should be a problem.”

Costis nodded pensively, studying the map again. “Up the river to here,” he said, tracing the route with one blunt finger, then overland. He glanced back at Gen. “Will he be strong enough for an overland journey?”

Gen nodded with certainty. Kamet had survived so much in his lifetime. A trek wasn’t going to kill him. “He’s stronger than he looks, although he might not realise it himself. ”

Costis straightened up, folding one arm over his middle and propping the other elbow on his fist as he returned his attention to the map. With his other hand, he ran his thumb back and forth under his chin, a frown furrowing his brow.

There was no question of Costis not knowing who he was looking for.

Like any member of the guard who had served in the two years prior to the royal wedding, Costis would have been familiar with Nahusuresh. Few, if any, had interacted with him, but every guard knew his face. They had also been wary of his quiet bustling shadow, who came and went while his master mixed with the upper tiers of Attolian society.

“You said we would need an opportunity to act,” Costis said suddenly. “What kind of opportunity?”

Gen smiled. “That one shouldn’t be a problem either. Nahuseresh has been chasing the Emperor’s train for months, trying to get back in favour. We just need to be sure he’s out of the way for long enough that you have time to find Kamet and speak to him. He has frequent meetings with the Emperor and his brother or other members of the court, which could keep him occupied for hours.”

“We hope to have a contact in the palace who can keep us informed,” Ornon added. “If we time it right, Kamet’s absence won’t be noticed until you’re on the river.”

Costis nodded. “Are they likely to come after him? From what I’ve read, the empire doesn’t like any kind of rebellion in their slaves.”

Gen hid a wince. If Kamet was half as useful as he and Irene hoped, then the information he carried would be priceless to the Emperor and his heir. They weren’t the kind of people to let that kind of intelligence escape alive. “Yes,” he said. It wouldn’t help to soften the blow. “He might be useful and valuable where he is, but the moment he runs, he’s as good as dead.”

Costis drew a sharp breath between his teeth, looking sickened. “So we get him out of Ianna-Ir and keep him out of their hands.”

Gen looked up at Costis. “He would be sacrificing everything and risking his life to escape. He’s going to be terrified and it might make him act irrationally. Don’t forget that.”

Costis set his jaw. “I won’t.”

“And he’ll annoy you,” Gen added unnecessarily. “By all accounts, he can be obnoxious and stuffy and incredibly frustrating. Whatever you do, you can’t throttle him.”

The look Costis gave him almost made him grin. “I have plenty of experience of not strangling people who annoy me,” Costis said.

Ornon chuckled. “I think, compared to _some_ , Kamet will be a little lamb.”

Gen arched an eyebrow at him, but couldn’t resist a muted bleat. Costis barely suppressed his snort of amusement. Gen looked back at him, his expression sobering. “Lambs aside, this would be a final blow to destroy Nahuseresh and his standing within the court. What kind of man has a slave stolen out from under him, especially his private secretary?”

Costis nodded. “As long as he’s willing to come,” he said. “I don’t think this’ll work if I have to resort to shoving him in a sack and carrying him off.”

“He’ll come,” Gen said, leaning back in his chair. “We’ll make sure of it.” He pushed one of the maps towards Costis. “Take that and learn the layout of the city on your journey over. You’ll need to be able to find your way around.”

Costis rolled up the map. “Yes, my King.”

Gen gazed at him, wondering if it might be kinder to tell him about the hornet’s nest he was about to kick, a hornet’s nest that Gen had placed right in his path. The trouble with Costis was that he gave too much away. He was too honest and too open and if he knew what they were planning, it could upset everything.

“We will see you for the ambassador’s departure tomorrow,” he said, the motioned to the door.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Gen could feel Ornon’s eyes on him. 

“I notice you didn’t explain how we’ll make sure of it,” Ornon said mildly.

Gen didn’t look at him. “No.”

“How can you be sure Kamet won’t tell him?”

Gen smiled sadly, remembering the scars, the flinches, the bald fear that came to Kamet’s eyes when his master was displeased with him. “Because, if we succeed, Kamet will do whatever he needs to, to ensure his survival. He knows what his master was capable of. He knows what the Empire would do to him. He would never reveal anything that might endanger him, especially not to a soldier from an enemy nation. He’s too proud and stubborn to die like that.”

Ornon was quiet for several minutes. “We might fail.”

Gen nodded. It was the thought that woke him in the night, the knowledge that if it all went wrong, if any part of it went wrong, two of his friends would die. There was no question of that. If they were caught, there would be no mercy from the Mede Emperor.

“This is the only choice we have,” he said, pushing the chair back and rising. “If we can’t find where the Emperor is hiding his navy, we might as well surrender now.” He looked at Ornon, surprised to see respect on the other man’s face. “You know better than anyone that sometimes a sacrifice has to be made.”

It felt like a lifetime ago when Ornon had almost pushed Irene to hang him.

Sometimes, they both knew, one life had to be given to save many.

Ornon bowed his head. “My King,” he murmured.


	5. Nahuseresh

The banquet hall was thrumming with noise. The scent of a thousand spices filled the air from the ornate gold and porcelain dishes on the low, heavily-laden tables. The occupants were dressed in colourful silks and crusted with jewels, all the better to make a grand show for their foreign guests.

Nahuseresh sipped a little remchik from his glass, slanting a look the length of the low table. 

When he was called back to court by the Emperor, he had been cautious. For almost a year, he had remained in an exile that was - for the most part - self-inflicted. He did not need to be told of the Emperor’s wrath and he half-expected to feel the burn of poison for his failure. 

When Nahuseresh was summoned, he returned, wary as a beaten slave, but his uncle and his brother both made it clear that he was required within the court. 

There was an Ambassador from the unified courts of Attolia, Eddis and Sounis, they informed him. As Nahuseresh knew the man in question from his mission to Attolia, he could make himself useful and play friend to the Ambassador. All the better to offer ample distraction and keep the Ambassador’s attention where they wanted it.

Nahuseresh had not expected the former Ambassador of Eddis to be Attolia’s chosen man. Her anger with Ornon must not have abated to drive him so far away. Or perhaps, his loathing of the woman whose country had swallowed his own.

Ornon was reclined on a couch a little further up the table from Nahuseresh, but a strategic distance from the Emperor and his heir. Close enough to acknowledge his presence, but far enough to make it clear he was not considered of consequence. An Attolian would not have noticed the very obvious slight, so it was even less likely that an Eddisian would.

The Ambassador looked uncomfortable. 

Everyone knew that the Eddisians were war-like savages who lived in their mountains. Ornon was a respectable Ambassador for them, but even in Attolia, he never quite seemed to fit. Now, to be sent forth to a court of such elegance and refinement was clearly a shock after the antiquated and plain court of Attolia.

Nahusuresh hid a smile behind his glass. The man probably thought Attolia was the pinnacle of culture. 

There could be no doubt that Ornon was intelligent. In Nahuseresh’s experience, he found Ornon to be prickly and stubborn, but articulate and more than willing to push his own agenda. Someone like that might try to steer political matters to his benefit, something - the Emperor had insisted - was to be curtailed.

It only raised the question of how to divert his attentions.

The answer came when the greater part of the meal was over.

The Ambassador’s lingering discomfort only seemed to grow when the floral displays and the serving platters were cleared from the open expanse of floor between the arch of the tables. It was clear he had been told what to expect and Nahuseresh watched as eight of the Emperor’s dancing girls glided into hall.

Four musicians bowed deeply to the Emperor before settling at the ends of the tables, arranging their striped robes around them, the colours the sign of their profession. The dancers lined up between them, as formal and well-ordered as any soldiers in the ranks of the Emperor’s army.

As one, they all sank into a full obeisance. Slaves darted forward to remove their outer robes as they rose, leaving them standing in an array of shimmering iridescent colour, bright as a kingfisher’s wing.

Nahusuresh glanced towards the Ambassador, amused by the tension in his expression.

Attolia’s dances were performed by the members of the court, Nahusuresh remembered. Eddis, too, had a tradition of dancing like peasants. The court of Ianna-Ir had far more decorum than that. No one of decent rank would debase themselves to dance, but that didn’t mean they lacked in entertainment.

The Emperor’s troupe of dancing girls were known to be the best and most well-trained in the empire. A banquet was the perfect place to display them and when they moved onto the cleared floor, a murmur of appreciation rippled through the court. 

They were skilled in dance and acrobatics, their costumes sheer and suggestive without being crude. Their arms and feet were bare, small strings of bells chiming musically around their ankles. They were gathered from across the empire, their skins a dozen shades, each of them chosen for her beauty and deftness.

Ornon averted his eyes towards the table, but more than once, Nahuseresh saw him dart a look at a slender brown hand or the arch of a pale foot. So he had eyes in his head after all, did he? Nahuseresh smiled when Ornon looked down the length of the table, as if to avoid the display in front of him. Ornon met his eyes and like a child caught in a act of mischief, he looked sharply away.

A man no better than any other man, then?

It would be all too easy to provide a generous gift to their new Ambassador. The man had only a few people to serve as his staff. If the Emperor offered a gift of servants, etiquette demanded that the Ambassador accepted them, especially since he was residing in the palace. And if those servants happened to be the kind that might draw Ornon’s eye…

Well, all to the better.

Nahuseresh tilted his glass in a mock toast when Ornon looked back to him and smiled again.


	6. Laela

The halls were empty, which was good.

No one was there to see as Laela slipped into the corridors assigned to the Attolian embassy. 

It was not the first time she had been there, but it was the first time she had not been sent by her master. If he found out, she could imagine how harshly he would punish her. 

The Attolian guard was standing outside his master’s door, but he turned his head as she approached, his hand on the pommel of his sword. A born soldier, that one. Broad and large and yet, when he smiled at her in welcome, it wasn’t unkind.

Her heart was fluttering like a bird caught in a trap and she dipped her head. “I have been sent on the Ambassador’s request,” she lied.

The soldier said nothing for a moment and she flinched when he reached out and touched the flowing sleeve of her robe. “You’re hurt.”

She stared at his hand under her arm and the dark blood staining the fabric. “It’s not mine,” she whispered. She looked up at him and prayed to Shesmegah that she was not about to place her own head in a noose. “It’s _his_.”

The soldier’s expression turned in a heartbeat. She saw the flash of fury and understanding and if he had not been holding her arm, she knew she would have retreated. The anger wasn’t for her, but she had seen too much of it from others not to fear it.

“In,” the soldier ordered quickly, opening the door. 

Laela slipped into the Ambassador’s chambers. It was no surprise that they were almost empty. The Ambassador tolerated the attendance of slaves to bring him his food and his necessities, but from all that she’d heard, the man had made no demands for others and had not been known to beat any of those who had been lax in their duties.

Ornon was seated as a broad table, bundles of papers and scrolls spread out before him. He looked up in surprise. “Laela?”

The door closed behind her. The thump was so loud that she flinched.

The soldier spoke rapidly in Attolian, gently catching her arm and lifting it again to show her sleeve to his master. She heard Kamet’s name mentioned and tried to keep her teeth from chattering together in terror. If her master heard, if he knew she was here…

“Thank you, Costis,” Ornon said in Mede. “Back to your post.” It was on her behalf, she thought. He must have noticed the panic in her face. The Ambassador crossed the floor to her and with the gentleness of a mother, guided her to the couch. “Please, sit down.”

Automatic obedience folded her legs beneath her, though her stomach curled in dread. To sit without her master’s leave was punishable by beating. 

A glass was pressed into her hand, polished blue glass with dancing white figures. So delicate and beautiful and filled with dark wine. She stared at it, then at him, only daring to take a drink when he smiled and nodded.

“You have nothing to fear here,” he repeated the first words he had ever said to her. “You know that.”

She nodded, still shaking.

“If your master asks,” he continued, sitting down on the table in front of her, “I will be sure he knows that I summoned you.” His thin lips drew into a line tight with displeasure. “I’m sure he would be pleased to know how well his… gift is being trained.”

“Yes, sir,” Laela whispered. She took another sip, shuddering at the unfamiliar sweetness. “Thank you, sir.”

Shortly after Ornon arrived in Ianna-Ir, Nahuseresh had sent the Attolian ambassador a barely-trained group of girls to be his private entertainment. It was a malicious gift, meant to make the Ambassador look foolish by either refusing to accept it and offending the Emperor or by accepting it and being forced to entertain his guests with terrible dancers.

Ornon had accepted the dancers, but it had surprised no one when one of the girls approached Laela, pleading with her to come and help them put their dances in order. She had age and experience that surpassed many of the other dancers, which made her the perfect choice.

Nahuseresh had laughed with delight when she told him. It said much for a man that his slaves had to beg for training themselves because their master was so hapless. She had been sent when Ornon was entertaining, to be sure there was an audience when she arrived.

Ornon never punished her for that.

It was strange to find a place of safety inside the walls of the Emperor’s palace, but Ornon offered her that. It became a respite to go there and train his dancers. Each time, he spoke to her briefly on arrival and before she departed. 

When he revealed his true purpose for speaking to her, that sense of safety was ripped out from beneath her: he wanted her to help Kamet escape. To run was to court death. To help someone to run was considered as heinous a crime. He talked of gaining her freedom too if she could only help them free Kamet and her world rushed around her ears.

It was impossible, she had told him. She had wept, then. Even if Kamet had saved her from being sold on to some crueller master, the Ambassador was asking too much. He didn’t know how merciless the punishment would be. Kamet was safer where he was. If they failed, then it would be much worse than anything they lived with now. 

He nodded in understanding and simply said, “If you change your mind, we can help.”

Now, she was sitting on his couch, his wineglass cupped in her trembling hands, Kamet’s blood soaked into her robe and her mind was changed.

“Costis said that’s Kamet’s blood on your clothing.”

Laela darted her tongue out to wet her lips and nodded. “Our master- he was beaten.” She lifted her eyes from the dark wine in her glass. Ornon was watching her, his silver-threaded brows pulled together in a frown. “I- it was a bad beating. Our master… there was no reason for it.”

“Is he going to be all right?”

Laela’s eyes burned. He sounded so concerned for a man he scarcely knew. They wanted Kamet for a reason, it was true, but when they spoke of him, they spoke of him as a person and not a possession. “Not for some time,” she admitted. “His ribs. I think they were broken. And his head is hurt.” 

Ornon nodded grimly. “Is that why you have come?”

Laela nodded and almost swore aloud as the glass slipped in her grip. Ornon caught it, though wine spilled over both their hands. “If he beats him so badly for no reason,” she burst out, “then he might do worse when the mood takes him. You must take Kamet from him. He must be safe.”

Ornon set aside the glass and took her hands between his. “We will, with your help.”

Her vision was blurring with hot tears. “They will kill us both if they find out,” she whispered. “You know they will.”

The Ambassador squeezed her hands gently. “We have no intention of them finding out.” He withdrew one hand, then offered her a fine silk handkerchief to wipe her face. “Let me tell you what we are going to do.”


	7. Costis

Almost three months in Ianna-Ir was more than enough. 

Costis never expected to like the place, but he was surprised by how much he had come to hate it. 

It was true that it was beautiful and grand with wealth and luxury the likes of which he had never seen before. His bedchamber had gold-leaf decorating the walls! He had thumbed at it once or twice to be sure that it was real. Even the simplest drapes were folded layers of silk woven so fine it was almost transparent.

The city itself was just as pristine. The streets were clean with wide boulevards and towering buildings. There were structures being built further afield every day. He had explored as much as he could and as spectacular as it all was, all he could see were the people whose blood and sweat was making it so.

For every member of the court he’d seen in the palace, there were a dozen slaves with metal chains wrapped like collars at their throats. The chain seemed to denote the rank of their master or their position in their household. 

The palace slaves who were visible in the halls wore double-bands of gold. The slaves who suffered night and day in the kitchens, working the fires or turning the spits, wore single bands of copper. Those were the poor bastards who had a foot or an eye or a digit missing. Not enough to be useless, but enough to be a warning to the others.

Out on the street, there were even more, usually trailing their masters, often heavily burdened and struggling, but not daring to complain. Some of their masters even wore a whip at their belt, a silent threat and promise. 

Costis had been forcibly restrained by Ornon’s grip on his arm on the one occasion he saw a man thrashing his slave in the marketplace. The slave had dropped a basket, breaking several eggs. This, it seemed, was reason enough to leave him bleeding and stumbling as he tried to gather up the baskets.

Costis knew there were slaves and slavers in the little peninsula. Wherever there were pirates and rovers, there would be slaves taken and sold. According to the rumours that had spread through Attolia, the now-king of Sounis had been abducted and enslaved before the crown had fallen to him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen slaves before.

The scale of it was so different, though. It was violent and bloody, but to the Medes, it seemed as it everything was as it should be. The contrast between their refinement and their brutality was shocking, even to a soldier. Especially to a soldier. Being injured on the battlefield, he could understand. Having a foot lopped off for falling asleep or breaking a master’s favourite pot was… wrong. 

When the dancing mistress, Laela, came to them, stained with Kamet’s blood and shaking like a leaf, he wanted to find Nahuseresh and do something to the bastard that would probably get him executed. The king would understand. Eugenides hated Nahuseresh more than anyone and Costis was starting to see the appeal in hating Nahuseresh on principle. 

“As soon as he’s recovered well enough and we have an opening,” Ornon told him after Laela left, “we move.”

Costis sat down opposite Ornon. Recovered meant there had to be injuries. “So it’s bad, then?”

“A few more weeks,” Ornon confirmed. “She believed his ribs were broken and his head was hurt too.”

Costis hissed through his teeth. “Gods preserve him. It sounds like we came just in time.”

The lines deepened in Ornon’s face as he grimaced. “From what she understands, he was beaten for nothing. She’s afraid that if it happens again, it might kill him.”

It explained why she was willing to aid them in Kamet’s escape.

“She’ll let us know when he’s able?”

Ornon pursed his lips, but he nodded. He looked worried and Costis couldn’t fault him for that, not with so much at risk. “It will need to be carefully timed if we are to succeed. We may have only a small window. Laela said she may only be able to tell us on the day that we need to make our move.”

Costis tried to hide his wince. The plan they had laid out - leave the palace, escape north by boat then overland to Zabrisa - depended on everything going smoothly. If they had to move suddenly and quickly, there was a greater chance for things to go wrong. “Can we be sure there will be a boat leaving that night?”

“His Majesty made sure I could afford to make it happen,” Ornon confirmed. He smiled crookedly. “The irony of it all is that Nahuseresh will be paying for it.”

Costis smiled at that. Of course Eugenides would fund the last humiliation of Nahuseresh with the very gold Nahuseresh had provided to the Queen of Attolia. Eugenides seemed to know the best way to anger someone the most. The fact he was also willing to pour so many resources into the escape told Costis how important it was. 

“We need to tighten up the plans,” he said, sitting forward on the chair. “I don’t want to risk anything going wrong.”

The next few weeks were a waiting game. Costis tried to mask his nervousness whenever the Ambassador had visitors, but it grew more and more difficult. 

Once, Nahuseresh himself came to speak with Ornon and Costis adamantly remained inside the room the whole time, jaw set, eyes fixed ahead of him, but ready to move if Nahusuresh even breathed the wrong way in Ornon’s direction. He didn’t, but after he left, Ornon warned Costis to behave as he normally would or else suspicions would be raised.

It wasn’t easy to stand on guard in the hall and leave Ornon with a man who was known to beat his slaves almost to death, but at least - and the thought warmed him - if Nahuseresh did do something stupid, Ornon was more than capable of fighting back. After all, he had trained the king in swordplay. 

It didn’t make things any easier, though.

He couldn’t even distract himself by walking the walls of the palace in case a message came from Laela. His days were spent balancing on a knife-edge, waiting, waiting, waiting, and his nights were spent going over the plan and sifting through ideas in case anything went wrong. He had memorised the maps and the cities scattered across the country. If anything happened with any stage of the plan, he had at least three contingencies ready. 

His packs were ready, stowed in a chest at the foot of his narrow bed: clothing for himself, a smaller change of clothes for Kamet, a generously-filled purse, a heavy gold ring in case the purse wasn’t enough and, most importantly, the King’s seal. 

It was almost a relief when Laela sent one of her girls to Ornon with an apology that she could not come and work with his dancers today. Her master would be entertaining and she needed to ensure his own dancing girls were prepared in case they were required.

Ornon waited until the messenger left, then looked at Costis. “You know where to find him?”

Costis nodded. “I’ve seen him in the hallways enough times. I’ll wait for him there.”

He left Ornon and made his way out into the halls. He was a familiar sight by now. The servants had seen him wandering about plenty of times and no longer eyed him as warily as they initially had. It made things easier, but the whole situation was far from simple.

Gods above and below, if this first part failed, then the rest of the plan was for nothing.

“I’ve never stolen anyone before,” he whispered under his breath. “Please help me…”

There was no reply. Maybe it was only Eugenides who got the reproaches from his - their - God, but just voicing the prayer helped.

Costis made his way through the labyrinth of corridors. He knew where Nahuseresh’s apartments were and the main passageway used to get to it. That was the most hallway to find Kamet and for once, the long halls were completely deserted. It felt like an auspicious start with no witnesses around. Costis was barely there half a dozen heartbeats before he heard footsteps approaching.

He recognised the slight figure at once and breathed more easily.

“Thank you,” he murmured, then moved forward to meet the man he was about to steal for his king.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End


End file.
